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TATSUMA, THE HOME OF THE DRAKARI —beings you might call Half-Humans and Half-Dragons, or simply Drakari. A perfect fusion of human and dragon blood. Yet, to be a Drakari is to be born male, for no female Drakari had ever existed. That is, until Tomoe was born—the first and perhaps the last female Drakari to ever grace this world.

Tomoe Arashi. To some, she was simply "Tomo" or "Ashi." But to most, she was an anomaly—a living contradiction in a world bound by rigid traditions. From the moment of her birth, she was shunned. A girl in a male-dominated race was unheard of, unnatural even. Whispers followed her every step, reminding her that a female could never possess the strength, the power, or the endurance of their male counterparts. This constant rejection planted a seed deep within her—a desperate, unyielding hunger to prove them wrong.

As a child, Tomoe quickly became obsessed with strength. Her earliest memories were of pleading with her parents to teach her the way of the blade. At first, they dismissed her requests, laughing softly at the absurdity of a girl wielding a katana. But Tomoe's persistence was relentless. Eventually, they relented, thinking her interest would wane with time. It did not.

Day after day, Tomoe trained, pushing her body to its limits and beyond. While other Drakari children played or rested, she drove herself to exhaustion, her small hands blistered and bleeding from hours of gripping the hilt of the blade. Being a Drakari meant possessing natural strength and boundless energy, but even so, Tomoe often left herself utterly drained. She believed it was because she was weak. But in truth, her relentless pursuit of perfection left her with little time to recover, her body a battlefield of overworked muscles and self-inflicted scars.

By the age of nine, Tomoe had surpassed her parents in combat skill, defeating them both in sparring matches. By then, she could also best older Drakari children—boys who had once mocked her. Yet instead of earning admiration, her triumphs brought only further scorn. She was breaking unwritten rules, defying expectations. A girl was not meant to be a warrior. She was meant to learn the delicate arts of knitting and crocheting, to prepare herself for the role of a devoted wife, like her mother before her.

But Tomoe despised this predetermined path. No—despised was not the right word. She simply could not accept it. She was a Drakari. By blood, by birthright, she was destined for greatness. To be strong, to be powerful—that was her dream. Not for glory, nor for fame, but to protect those she loved. To bear the weight of the world on her shoulders if necessary.

For thirty long years, Tomoe honed her skills. By the age of fourteen, she had mastered the katana, her blade an extension of her soul. Yet even mastery was not enough. She continued to train relentlessly, her body hard and calloused, her spirit unyielding. While the women around her grew soft and graceful, Tomoe became a living weapon—unyielding, unrelenting, and utterly untamed.

“Every dragon has their treasure,” her father once told her. In ancient times, before dragons mingled their blood with humans, they hoarded gold and jewels. But modern Drakari desired other things: some hoarded women, others wealth or land. For Tomoe, her treasure was strength—raw, unshakable power.

“A penny for your thoughts, Lady Tomoe?”

The voice was soft, almost melodic, carrying a warm gentleness that felt out of place in Tomoe's turbulent world. She turned to see Tyler, a Mage Priest she had encountered during her travels—a man she had saved from certain death when he had stumbled into quicksand.

If not for her intervention, he would have been swallowed whole, another unfortunate victim of the merciless wilds. Priests were vital in this world, the mortal vessels through which the gods spoke, healed, and guided.

Tomoe had left her homeland in search of a god worthy of her devotion—a deity whose power she could borrow, whose strength could amplify her own. To become a god’s vessel, a Monarch, was the greatest blessing a mortal could achieve. For Tomoe, it was more than a blessing—it was her ultimate goal.

Tyler, however, was a peculiar priest. Unlike others she had met, he wore strange garments that obscured his form, and a delicate paper veil hid his face as though concealing a great secret. His mysterious nature intrigued her, though she never pried. After all, everyone carried their own burdens—some heavier than others.

Tyler lowered himself to sit beside her, his movements slow and deliberate. The veil shifted slightly, and for the briefest moment, Tomoe thought she caught a glimpse of a faint smile beneath it. She couldn’t help but mirror it, her lips curving upward in response.

“Lady Tomoe is very quiet again today,” Tyler observed, his tone laced with concern. “Is something the matter?”

Tomoe shook her head, her silver hair falling like a cascade over her shoulders. Her fingers traced absent patterns over the scaled patch of her elbow, scratching lightly as she spoke.

“No, no. Just… thinking about things. Nothing important, of course!” She waved her hand dismissively before narrowing her eyes at the priest. “What about you? I’ve seen you pacing around like a restless dog. What troubles you, Tyler?”

Tyler chuckled softly at her comment, the sound light and melodic, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of the night. For a moment, he lowered his golden staff, the rings at its tip clinking faintly—a sound that always rang sharp in Tomoe’s sensitive ears. He clasped his hands together, his head tilting slightly as he gave her a knowing look.

“Just thinking about things as well,” he replied, his voice teasing yet calm. Under the edge of his paper veil, Tomoe caught a flash of his grin, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, I guess that makes two of us, huh?” she said, her voice holding a rare ease.

“Must be,” he agreed with a nod, his tone warm.

The two fell into a companionable silence, their gazes drawn to the crackling fire burning steadily before them. It was Tomoe’s handiwork, of course. Tyler, bless his soul, could create flames with magic, but she hated to see him waste mana for something as simple as a campfire. So she had done it the old-fashioned way—two stones, dry firewood, and a little patience. The firelight danced across their faces, golden and alive, casting fleeting shadows on the surrounding trees.

“I wonder,” Tomoe murmured wistfully, running her fingers through her silver hair, “if I’ll ever find a god who will place their gaze upon me.” Her voice carried a quiet vulnerability, one she rarely allowed to surface.

Tyler tilted his head, his golden staff leaning idly against his shoulder. “Are you worrying about your strength again?” His tone was gentle, but there was a subtle firmness beneath it. “Tomoe, you’re plenty strong already. Isn’t that the very reason I follow you?”

Tomoe let out a laugh, though it sounded hollow to her own ears. She shook her head as if to ward off the weight of his words. “Of course you’d say that, Tyler. You’re so kind, you know that? Always knowing how to calm a dragon’s sickness.”

Tyler chuckled, the sound warm and soothing. “Oh, Lady Tomoe, you aren’t sick. Power and strength don’t always mean physical might. Perhaps what you need is mental fortitude,” he said, his voice thoughtful.

Tomoe blushed faintly at his words, a hint of shame creeping into her expression. “I didn’t ask you to follow me, and yet… It's only been a month, but you’ve already become the best friend I’ve met in all my travels.”

Tyler beamed beneath his paper veil, visibly pleased. “Well then, I’m honored!” he replied with a joy so genuine it made Tomoe smile.

“Still,” she said, her curiosity piqued, “I’ve got to ask. What is a priest doing wandering around like this?”

Tyler leaned back slightly, resting his weight on one hand. “Oh, I’m just a humble priest, roaming the world and healing the sick,” he said with a shrug, his tone light.

Tomoe tilted her head, her interest genuine. It wasn’t often they spoke like this—openly, without the rush of travel or the distractions of their respective duties. Most days, Tyler busied himself helping townsfolk, healing the sick and playing with children, while she trained relentlessly with her sword. Two travelers, walking the same path but rarely stopping to linger.

“I can see that,” Tomoe said after a moment. “Your god must love you very much for all you do.”

Tyler nodded, though his tone was modest. “I suppose she does. But it’s not just me. There are many priests at her temple, all working hard to spread her blessings.”

“Your god is very loved,” Tomoe observed softly.

At that, Tyler chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I guess you could say that.”

Tomoe sighed wistfully, her fingers tracing idle patterns in the dirt beside her. “Maybe I should become a priest, then,” she said, her voice light as if joking, though the thought lingered in her mind. “Maybe that’s the only way to be noticed by a god.”

Tyler laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “That’s ridiculous, Lady Tomoe! You’re already plenty powerful. I’ve seen your strength firsthand. Do you think I follow you out of pity? You could probably cut a mountain in half if you wanted to!”

Tomoe almost pouted, her lips twitching into a half-smile. “Cutting mountains in half is easy,” she said, feigning nonchalance.

Tyler let out a sound of disbelief, shaking his head as he adjusted the paper veil over his face. “Easy, you say? Do you think I could manage it with my staff?”

“Of course!” Tomoe replied brightly, her tone teasing. “You just have to train every day for thirty years.”

Tyler giggled, the sound light and airy. “I think I’ll pass on that. I’m just a priest, after all. I can manage weak spells and strong heals, but mountain-splitting is a bit beyond me.”

Tomoe crossed her arms, huffing slightly. “Weak spells? If anything, you’re far from weak.”

Tyler’s tone softened, a hint of sadness creeping in. “Ah, Lady Tomoe, I wish you could tell yourself that,” he murmured.

At his words, Tomoe’s earlier excitement faded, her expression turning contemplative. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves and threatening to extinguish the fire she had so carefully built. Before she could move to protect it, Tyler shook his staff, and the fire roared to life, ten times stronger than before. The heat was intense, almost unbearable for an ordinary mortal, but Tomoe, with her dragon blood, basked in it.

She glanced at Tyler, her sharp gaze catching the firelight reflected in the stark white of his paper veil. Despite the searing heat, he seemed unbothered. Perhaps it was the thick fabric that shielded him, or perhaps there was something more to him than he let on.

Tomoe stayed silent, offering a small, grateful nod before turning her attention back to the fire.

“Is it so wrong to seek power?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames. “As a child, I dreamed of being strong—strong enough to protect the people I love. But every time I speak of wanting to be powerful, you always sound… disappointed.”

Tyler was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a weight that made Tomoe’s heart still. “Passion is what makes mortals so fascinating. I don’t think it’s wrong, Tomoe. Being passionate about something means you have something to live for. But perhaps… what you truly seek isn’t power, but purpose.”

Tomoe frowned at his words, but before she could respond, Tyler continued, his tone soft yet inviting.

“How about you come to the Temple of Reflection? It’s where I come from, and the Goddess of Guidance has a well there. If you look into it, you’ll see what you truly want to become.”

Tomoe’s breath caught, her heart stirring with the weight of his offer.

What do I truly want to become?

The question lingered in her mind, heavy and unanswerable, as the fire crackled between them.

THE TEMPLE OF REFLECTION was nothing short of breathtaking. White marble pillars, towering as if to touch the heavens, held the majestic structure aloft. The air was thick with a serene stillness, broken only by the soft murmurs of priests who moved about, clad in the same curious garments as Tyler. Some bore paper veils over their faces, obscuring their expressions, while others walked openly, their faces unhidden. 

“I’ve heard,” Tomoe began, her voice breaking the tranquility as she hurried to keep up with Tyler, who was gripping the hem of his robe to quicken his pace. “That this temple is often visited by demi-gods. I didn’t know you were one of the priests here. It feels like I have so much more to learn… I’ve only just started traveling the world.”

She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, glancing around the temple with wide eyes. Light filtered through intricately carved windows, casting ethereal patterns on the polished stone floor. The air was cool, almost weightless, as if the temple existed in a realm separate from the mortal world.

Tyler slowed slightly, glancing back at her. “You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Demi-gods do come here, but so do mortals. This place calls to those facing hardship, those in desperate need of clarity or a moment of reflection.” His pace quickened again. “Come, the well is just ahead.”

As they entered the heart of the temple, the sight stole Tomoe’s breath. In the center of the vast hall stood a pristine white well. Its water was so clear and motionless that it seemed like polished glass, mirroring its surroundings with perfect clarity. Above, a crescent-shaped opening in the ceiling allowed sunlight to pour in, casting a crescent-shaped beam of light directly onto the well. The interplay of shadow and light gave the scene an almost otherworldly beauty.

Tomoe gasped, stepping closer. “This… this is magnificent,” she whispered, circling the well. The structure was an exquisite blend of architecture and artistry, its base crafted from clay so smooth and strong it looked like marble. Intricate carvings adorned its sides—symbols and inscriptions that Tomoe couldn’t decipher. Her fingers traced the delicate markings.

“What does this say?” she asked, glancing at Tyler, who stood beside her, his golden staff resting loosely in his hand.

Tyler leaned in slightly, his voice soft as he translated:

“In these hallowed halls of quiet reflection, let every soul peer within its depths. Here, in the mirror of your heart, see the true form of your being—each thought, each dream, a whisper of eternity. As still as water and as clear as the moon’s glow, the spirit unfolds, inviting you to shed illusions and embrace your inherent light. Reflect, and in that act, awaken the wisdom born from silence.”

Tomoe’s eyes widened as she listened, her lips parting slightly in awe. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “I understand now why so many come here.” She turned to Tyler. “Do you think I should look at my reflection now? If you’d prefer, you can wait outside.”

Tyler tilted his head, watching her intently. “If you want me to stay, I will,” he said gently as if he knew what Tomoe was thinking about. Her reluctance, her hesitation and unease building in her chest.

Tomoe hesitated, her heart fluttering in her chest. It wasn’t fear exactly—but something close. Unease, perhaps. A part of her was terrified of what the well would reveal. Would it show her something triumphant, something to affirm her years of struggle? Or would it confirm her deepest fears—that her hard work, her sacrifices, her very identity, were built on a fragile illusion? She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing.

“I want you to stay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I trust you.”

Tyler nodded, his expression unreadable behind the veil. “I will see what you see. Are you sure you’re all right with that?”

“Absolutely,” Tomoe said firmly. She straightened her posture, her resolve hardening. “You may not consider me a friend, Tyler, but I do. We’ve traveled together through the towns and villages of Europe. I’ve seen how deeply you care for people, how you work tirelessly to ease their burdens. Whatever this well shows me, I have nothing to hide from you.”

For a moment, Tyler was silent. Then he inclined his head. “If that’s what you want, I won’t argue.”

He moved to the opposite side of the well, his golden staff glinting in the crescent-shaped light. “When you’re ready,” he said softly, “look into the water.”

Tomoe stepped forward, her hands gripping the edge of the well. Slowly, she leaned over and gazed into the still surface. Her reflection stared back at her, clear and unbroken. And then, as if touched by magic, the water began to ripple. The ripples grew into a whirlpool, spiraling faster and faster until her reflection was completely obscured.

Tomoe held her breath as the whirlpool slowed, revealing an image. Her heart skipped a beat. It was a memory—her and her father standing on a sandy shore, gazing out at the endless expanse of the ocean. She remembered that day vividly. She glanced at Tyler, who was watching her with quiet curiosity, the faintest hint of a smile visible beneath his veil.

The scene shifted. The whirlpool showed fragments of her life: her grueling training sessions, the calluses on her hands, the tears she shed when her fellow Drakari refused to acknowledge her. Each memory played like a silent film, raw and unfiltered. Tomoe felt her chest tighten. She had endured so much, fought so hard to prove herself.

Suddenly, the whirlpool grew erratic, its movements wild and frenzied. The breeze in the temple picked up, tugging at her robes. Alarmed, she looked up at Tyler, but he remained calm, his gaze fixed on the water.

The image shifted again. This time, it was something she didn’t recognize. A dragon emerged, its form majestic and powerful, its eyes glowing with an ancient light. Tomoe’s breath caught in her throat. “My god,” she whispered.

The dragon dissolved, its shape morphing into that of a little girl. The girl grew, transforming into a teenager, then an adult. Wings sprouted from her back, unfolding grandly. The whirlpool spun faster, the wind howling—and then, all at once, it stopped. The water stilled, smooth and untouched as if nothing had happened.

Tomoe staggered back, her eyes wide. “What… what was that?” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand.”

Tyler approached her, his gloved hand resting gently on her shoulder. “That,” he said quietly, “was what you needed to see. Reflections are not always meant to be understood immediately.”

Tomoe frowned, still reeling. “But what does it mean?”

Tyler’s voice softened. “The Goddess of Guidance once frequented this temple. She could see into the depths of a soul and foretell its destiny. The well has shown you something similar—a glimpse of what you may become.”

“A dragon,” Tomoe whispered, her voice filled with awe and disbelief. She had never aspired to such a transformation, yet the thought stirred something deep within her—a sense of possibility, of latent power waiting to awaken.

As they left the temple, the air outside felt warmer, lighter. Tyler’s footsteps were slow, contemplative. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

Tomoe hesitated, then nodded. “Perhaps.”

At the temple’s steps, she turned to him. “I suppose this is goodbye. Thank you for guiding me here.”

Tyler chuckled, tapping his golden staff on the ground. “Unfortunately, my journey isn’t over yet.”

Tomoe grinned, her spirits lifting. “Then I’m glad to have you by my side a little longer.”

“Likewise, Lady Tomoe,” Tyler said.

TOMOE AKASHI WAS FAR FROM HOME. Not once, ever since she had left the place of her birth, had she felt homesick. She had never longed for the warmth of the hearth, the comforting aroma of her mother’s cooking, or the gruff but steady voice of her father. Home was a distant memory, a fragment of her past that she had buried beneath her relentless pursuit of strength and power.

But now, for the first time, homesickness lingered like a faint ache in her chest. It had started after she gazed into the well at the Temple of Reflection , where her family’s faces had appeared in the still waters. That fleeting glimpse of their familiar warmth had awakened something in her—a longing she didn’t know she had buried.

For once, her mind wasn’t consumed by her obsession with growing stronger or the ceaseless hunger to prove herself. The blinding sickness of dragon blood coursing through her veins—its intoxicating lure of power—had ruled her life since childhood. But after the well’s vision, it was as if the veil over her eyes had been lifted. The hunger was still there, but it had softened, no longer the all-consuming force it once was.

Now, she found herself standing as Tyler’s guard. It was an odd arrangement, but one she accepted without complaint. Tyler wasn’t weak by any means, but as a priest, he carried a vulnerability that made her protective instincts flare. Many would kill to possess someone like him—a healer capable of mending even the most grievous wounds, restoring lost limbs, and easing the suffering of the gravely ill.

Tomoe sniffed the air, taking in the familiar scent of rain meeting earth. It mingled with the freshness of wet grass and the distant tang of salt carried on the wind. The smell stirred old memories—of home, of mornings spent training on sandy shores, of the sea breeze brushing her face as she tirelessly honed her swordplay. She had taken so much for granted back then, blinded by her ambition.

The Drakari, her people, lived far longer than mortals—some to 150 years, others even to 200. At 30, Tomoe was still considered young, barely more than a teenager by her kind’s standards. Despite her blistered hands and calloused palms, she hadn’t endured the same hardships as the mortals she now found herself among.

In this village, the people’s struggles were etched into their faces. Hunger and sickness plagued them, especially the children. Night after night, Tyler worked tirelessly to heal them. Mothers came to him with desperate eyes, clutching their fevered babes to their chests. And Tyler, ever the saint, never hesitated. He healed them all, sacrificing his own rest, his meals, and his strength to ease their suffering.

Watching him, Tomoe couldn’t help but worry. She had come to know Tyler well in their time together. His selflessness was as admirable as it was maddening. He seemed incapable of taking care of himself, and while she had grown used to his unrelenting compassion, it still gnawed at her.

“Are you not going to rest?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern as she sat beside him. Tyler was wiping his golden staff with a worn cloth he had pulled from his satchel. The staff gleamed faintly, even in the dim light of the evening.

“Rest?” Tyler repeated, almost amused. “For what? There are still people here who need help.”

His voice was light, as though exhaustion hadn’t touched him. It made Tomoe wonder if he was even mortal.

“You must have been a saint in a past life,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Tyler glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips beneath the veil. “A saint? I’m honored you think so.”

Tomoe grinned, leaning back against the wall. “If anything, I should be honored to stand beside you.”

She nudged him playfully with her elbow, forgetting her strength for a moment. Tyler yelped as he nearly toppled off the chair.

“Oh no! I’m sorry, Tyler!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet to steady him.

Tyler waved her off, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t fret, Lady Tomoe. It was merely a nudge. A priest like me should be strong!” He raised his arm, flexing his bicep with exaggerated effort.

Tomoe stared for a moment, then burst into laughter, throwing her head back as the sound echoed through the quiet room. Tyler’s lanky stature made the gesture utterly comical.

Tyler chuckled along with her, his laughter soft and unassuming. “You’re already very strong,” Tomoe said between laughs, shaking her head. “You’ve healed almost everyone in this town. I’m amazed… and terrified for your health.”

Her voice softened as she regarded him, her expression one of genuine admiration. Tyler had earned her respect a hundred times over. In her eyes, he was someone who deserved to be sung about in tales of heroism and grace.

“I’m only following my path as a priest,” Tyler replied modestly, but there was a glimmer of warmth in his tone.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” Tomoe said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

Tyler paused, his hands stilling over the cloth as he looked at her. There was an almost imperceptible shift in the air, a quiet acknowledgment that her words meant more to him than he let on. “Thank you,” he said at last. “It’s an honor to hear that.”

Tomoe snorted lightly, shaking her head. “Humble as always,” she muttered.

Priests weren’t rare in her homeland. She had encountered shrine maidens during her travels across Japan, and even beyond its borders, she had met countless clerics and monks. But Tyler was different. There was something about him—an aura, a quiet strength—that set him apart. It was as though the gods themselves watched over him, blessing his every step.

Or perhaps it was simply his unwavering faith in the people he helped.

Tomoe didn’t regret staying by his side after the Temple of Reflection. If anything, she was grateful. Tyler had shown her a path she hadn’t considered before—a path that wasn’t solely about strength or power, but about compassion, kindness, and the quiet courage it took to care for others.

As the rain continued to fall softly outside, Tomoe glanced at the priest beside her. His golden staff shimmered faintly in the dim light.

She smiled to herself. Perhaps, standing guard for someone like Tyler was the most important thing she had ever done.

That night, the two of them booked a modest inn. The room was cramped, with two narrow beds pushed against opposite walls, their wooden frames groaning ominously at the slightest pressure. The mattress was thin, and the sheets were worn and rugged—so much so that Tomoe thought if she stood on the bed, the frail wood might splinter beneath her weight. Across the room, Tyler sat on the other bed, quietly tending to his golden staff. The faint glow of the staff reflected off the dimly lit walls, casting soft, flickering patterns that danced across the uneven surface.

Tomoe, on the other hand, busied herself with wiping down her arms and neck using a damp cloth. She had loosened her black top, leaving herself in a crisp, white dress shirt. Her beret lay discarded on the nightstand beside her. Beside her feet, a dented metal bin filled with water rested precariously on the creaky floorboards. Tyler had fetched the water for her earlier, trudging through the chilly evening streets. She dipped the cloth into the cool water again, wringing it out before running it along her forearms, where her scales had begun to itch. The sensation was uncomfortable, as though the fabric of her sleeves had rubbed them raw during the day. Most Drakari avoided covering their scales for this very reason—wearing only loose, breathable clothing to prevent irritation.

Behind her, the faint metallic clink of Tyler’s staff broke the room’s silence, the rings at the top of the staff jingling softly as he polished it. “Do you need help with that?” His voice was gentle, and she heard the soft scuff of his boots as he crossed the room and sat beside her. Adjusting the hem of his robe, he extended a gloved hand toward her.

Tomoe flushed slightly, lowering the cloth to her lap. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask that of you. You’ll get your glove all wet.” Her embarrassment was almost palpable, her voice carrying a nervous laugh. She resumed dabbing at her elbow in quick, deliberate strokes.

Tyler chuckled, a light, warm sound that seemed to fill the dreary room. “I can always take it off,” he said, tugging at the edge of his glove.

“Oh, you worked so hard today. I won’t let you,” Tomoe replied with a laugh, cutting him off. Tyler sighed and shook his head, lowering his hand back to his lap. He watched as she continued to soak her scales, dabbing at them carefully before drying them with a soft cloth.

“If you’d like,” Tyler said after a moment, his tone casual yet sincere, “I could brush your hair.”

Tomoe glanced at him with a snort, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re not the type to sit still, are you?” she teased. Though, in truth, she’d seen him remain unnervingly still from time to time—standing motionless with his golden staff in hand, like some kind of solemn statue.

Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out a golden-scaled comb. It was an heirloom, passed down through generations of her family. For a moment, she stared at it, her fingers running over its polished surface with a quiet reverence. It had once belonged to her grandmother, and before that, her great-grandmother. Handing it to Tyler, she watched as he took the comb with both hands, holding it up to the dim light to examine it.

“Oh my,” Tyler murmured, his voice tinged with awe. “What a beautiful comb. These are dragon scales, aren’t they?” He turned it over in his hands, marveling at the intricate details etched across its surface. The faint glimmer of the scales caught what little light the room offered, making them shimmer faintly.

Tomoe leaned forward, her gaze following his. “It was my mother’s,” she said softly. “And her mother’s before that.”

“A family heirloom, then,” Tyler said, his admiration evident. “How remarkable. You know, Drakari have always been considered rare. To meet one is an honor. But to be protected by one…” He trailed off, his voice filled with quiet respect.

Tomoe flushed at the compliment, lowering her gaze to the cloth in her lap. Back in her hometown, her strength had never seemed remarkable. Everyone there was strong enough to fend for themselves. And being a female drakari was—strange, not accepted.

No one needed her protection. No one had ever told her she was special. Perhaps that was why she had left—why she had spent so much time trying to prove herself. Pride? Envy? Anger? She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was that she wanted to be strong enough to protect someone.

Tyler began brushing her hair, his movements careful and deliberate. Despite his usual restless energy, he worked with surprising patience, carefully untangling each knot. When the comb snagged, he paused, ensuring he didn’t pull too hard. His hands, even gloved, felt soft as they brushed against her hair.

“Tell me,” Tomoe said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Did you have a sister?”

Tyler glanced at her, surprised by the question but smiling faintly. “No. Why do you ask?”

Tomoe shrugged, her gaze distant. “You just… seem to know a lot about brushing hair.”

The comment earned a soft laugh from Tyler. He didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on smoothing out another tangle. Tomoe closed her eyes, letting herself relax under his careful touch. For a moment, she thought of her mother brushing her hair when she was younger. The memory made her chest ache. She regretted leaving home in secret, abandoning the ribbon her mother had made for her. She had left only a single letter, promising to return stronger. One day, she hoped she would keep that promise. She hoped her parents wouldn’t be disappointed in her.

For now, though, she had a purpose: protecting this strange, earnest priest until his journey was complete.

“A sister? Oh no, not really,” Tyler giggled softly as he worked through another tangle in Tomoe’s hair. His fingers moved with careful precision, untangling each knot with a gentle rhythm. Tomoe leaned back slightly, resting her weight on her hands with a contented sigh. If anything, the way Tyler worked was reminiscent of a nurturing mother. But, of course, that couldn’t be true—Tyler was a man, and she doubted a priest devoted to his gods would have the luxury of a wife or child.

“Oh really?” she teased lightly. “You have the hands of a god. It’s just like how my mother used to care for my hair.”

Tyler chuckled, his laughter low and warm. “Is that so? Then I’m honored. And you, Lady Tomoe?” He tilted his head slightly, his voice curious. “Do you have any siblings?”

Tomoe hummed thoughtfully at his question. “Well,” she began, “I’m an only child, just like you.”

She paused for a moment, her gaze softening. “You must miss your family, just as I do. Being a priest can’t make that any easier.”

At her words, Tyler fell quiet. His hands continued their steady work, brushing her now-silky strands, though his movements turned a little slower, more deliberate. “Oh, well…” he began softly, his voice tinged with a faint sadness. “I lost my father when I was just a teenager.”

Tomoe straightened slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said gently.

Tyler shook his head, the paper veil moved slightly and she saw him offering her a small, sad smile. “There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t miss him. But instead of being sad that he’s no longer here, I like to think he’s happy—wherever he is now.”

Tomoe’s chest tightened at his words. “Your father must be very proud of you, Tyler,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere.

Tyler stilled for a moment, his gaze fixed on the comb in his hand. Gently, he swiped away the lingering strands of grey hair caught in its teeth, crumpling them in his fist before letting them drift down through the cracks in the rickety floorboards. He ran his fingers through her hair one last time, smoothing out any remaining loose strands. “I’d like to think so too,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wherever he is, I hope he’s as happy as he was when he was with me.”

Tomoe smiled softly, her gaze warm as she turned to face him fully. She had finished tending to her scales, her arms and neck now gleaming faintly in the pale light of the room. “I’m all done,” she announced. “Shall we rest?”

Tyler nodded, standing up carefully. As he adjusted his robe, his foot caught on its hem, and he stumbled slightly. Tomoe reached out instinctively, steadying him with a laugh. “My, my,” she teased, her grin playful. “I catch you tripping on that robe so often, it makes me wonder if you’re still not used to wearing such long fabrics!”

Tyler chuckled, tugging at the lower edge of his robe and lifting it slightly to reveal the white pants and polished leather shoes he wore beneath. “Aha, you’re not wrong,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s difficult to walk in this if the floor isn’t… well, smooth.”

Tomoe shook her head with an amused smile as she turned to clean the dented metal bin. Lifting it carefully, she carried it over to the window and leaned out to check whether anyone was below. Satisfied, she tipped the water out into the alleyway before setting the bin back on the floor and hanging the damp cloth over its edge to dry.

Meanwhile, Tyler returned to his bed. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the creaky mattress, his golden staff resting horizontally across his lap. His fingers moved over its intricate surface, caressing the ornate rings at the top.

Tomoe made her way to her bed, flicking off the dim light as she passed. The room fell into darkness, save for the pale, silver glow of the moon spilling through the window. The moonlight illuminated the golden staff, making it shimmer faintly in Tyler’s hands. Tomoe paused, noting that he hadn’t yet laid down.

“Tyler,” she called softly, her voice laced with confusion, “aren’t you going to rest?”

He glanced up at her, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he replied with a gentle smile. “I need to say my prayers first. You can sleep if you’re tired.”

“Prayers…” Tomoe murmured, her lips curving into a small smile. “Oh yes, of course. Silly me, I’d forgotten. You always pray before resting, don’t you?”

At night, there had been many times when she’d fallen asleep first, only to wake and find Tyler still sitting quietly, his staff in hand. She had always assumed it was because he wasn’t used to sleeping on the hard ground from their travels, but now she realized it was his devotion that kept him awake.

“Goodnight, Tyler,” she said softly, her voice gentle as sleep began to weigh on her. “I hope you finish your prayers quickly. You need to rest too.”

Tyler gave her a small nod, his expression serene. “Of course. And goodnight to you, Lady Tomoe.”

Tomoe smiled faintly, her eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion of the day finally took hold. As she drifted off, the last sound she heard was the faint clink of Tyler’s staff and the quiet murmur of his prayers.

“ PLAY HIDE AND SEEK WITH US! ” Three children screamed in excitement, their voices overlapping as they tugged at Tyler’s robes from all directions. Each pull sent the fabric swaying in different ways, causing the man to burst into laughter. The sound was warm and resonant, filling the quiet morning with joy.

“Oh my,” Tyler said, allowing himself to be dragged around like a leaf caught in the wind. His posture was relaxed, his amusement genuine, as if their energy had infected him.

The children were what one would call Beast-men , much like Tomoe herself—though to them, they were full-bloods, proud members of their kind. Each of them had a distinct presence, their unique traits standing out even amidst their shared enthusiasm.

At the forefront was Astrilda, a striking tiger cub with fur as white as freshly fallen snow. Her mismatched eyes—one a piercing arctic blue and the other a softer, twilight hue—shimmered with delight. Her paw-like hands clung to Tyler’s robes with surprising strength, her tail swishing behind her in excitement.

On the other side, Elrick and Valrick, two little wolf cubs, jostled each other in their eagerness. Brothers through and through, their dark gray fur had a smoky, almost silvery sheen under the sunlight. Elrick was the more outspoken of the two, his sharp amber eyes gleaming with mischief, while Valrick was quieter but no less spirited, his ears twitching as he occasionally howled in excitement.

“Now, now,” Tyler said with a mock-serious tone, wagging a finger at them. “It’s morning. I don’t think any of you can hide in the daylight!”

A loud collective “Awwww!” erupted from the three, their furry faces falling into exaggerated pouts. Wide eyes, quivering lips, and drooping ears made them look utterly pitiful, though Tyler only chuckled in response. The paper veil over his face shifted slightly, hinting at the broad smile beneath.

Standing a few paces away, Tomoe observed the scene with a faint smile of her own. Through Tyler’s veil, she could see the joy radiating from him. He was in his element—completely at ease, as if the cares of the world temporarily melted away in the presence of these children.

“But we can hide!” Elrick protested, his voice rising with indignation. “Please, Mister! You said you would play with us today! You promised yesterday—when you healed Astrilda’s leg!”

Astrilda, as if on cue, began bouncing up and down on her recently healed limb. “See? I can run now!” she exclaimed, her tail flicking back and forth. “Please, Mister! Pleeeeeease!”

Tyler’s laughter rang out again, his shoulders shaking as he finally relented. “Alright, alright! Fine. But no wandering into the woods, understand? I’ll count to thirty to give you all a head start.”

The children erupted into cheers, their delight echoing through the clearing. Before Tyler could even lower his head to begin counting, the three had already bolted in different directions, their tails disappearing into the tall grass.

“My, aren’t they happy to play?” Tomoe remarked as she stepped closer to Tyler, her voice tinged with amusement.

Tyler turned to her, his golden staff leaning casually against the wooden bench beside him. “Ah, yes. They’ve been pestering me since dawn. Since we’re leaving later, I thought I might as well indulge them. Besides,” he added with a playful grin, “I’ve always been very good at hide and seek.”

Tomoe laughed softly, crossing her arms. “I don’t doubt that. Just don’t forget your thirty seconds. I’ll wait here while you four play.”

With a nod, Tyler picked up his staff, the intricate carvings catching the morning light. “Alright then. I’ll make this quick, Lady Tomoe. I’ll be right back,” he said with a lilt in his voice. As he hurried off, one hand lifted the hem of his robe to avoid tripping.

Tomoe watched him disappear, her chuckle fading into the quiet hum of the breeze. She turned to find a bench along the dirt road and lowered herself onto it, her posture straight yet relaxed. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves scattered across the ground. One stray strand of her hair drifted across her face, and she tucked it back behind her ear with a sigh.

This moment of stillness was rare for her. Tomoe was not one to linger idly—her nature was that of action and discipline. Yet now, she allowed herself to relax, if only for a short while.

Her katana, Tetsuryoku , rested at her side, its blade hidden within a pristine scabbard. The weapon was a masterpiece, its hilt wrapped in leather interwoven with the shed scales of her father—a gift he had given her when she first mastered the sword. To the Drakari, offering one’s scales was a deeply personal act, a symbol of love and trust. Tomoe herself had given her scales to her parents many times, each offering a testament to her devotion.

She ran her fingers over the scabbard absentmindedly, her mind drifting to the countless hours she had spent training. Her body bore the marks of her dedication—calloused hands, scars hidden beneath her uniform, and the occasional ache from overexertion. She had pushed herself to the brink time and again, dragging boulders through the woods, striking rocks until her fists bled, and honing her agility until she could outpace the swiftest of predators.

For many, such relentless training might seem excessive, even self-destructive. But to Tomoe, it was simply her way of life. Every ache, every bruise, every drop of blood shed was a step closer to perfection. She had no regrets.

Her ears strained at the noise—it sounded like children laughing. A faint smile tugged at her lips as a single thought crossed her mind: Tyler must have found them already. She turned her head instinctively toward the direction where Tyler had run off, her sharp eyes scanning the path.

Sure enough, she spotted him emerging from between the trees, his golden staff catching the sunlight as he walked. Just behind him were the three Beast-children, their small figures bounding after him. They clung to his robes, pulling and tugging as if trying to slow him down, but Tyler pressed on, his laughter carrying through the air.

As the group drew closer, their voices became clearer.

“That was so fast, Mister! How did you do that?” Elrick’s voice was tinged with both amazement and frustration.

“Quite easy, you see,” Tyler replied with a playful tone. “I could see your tail poking out from the bush.”

“That’s not fair!” Astrilda protested, her mismatched eyes wide with indignation.

Tomoe chuckled softly from her seat, shaking her head in amusement as Tyler finally walked up to her. He hugged his staff with both hands, his expression unbothered even as the children continued circling him like restless pups.

“When are you going to come back, Mister?” Valrick whined, his ears drooping as he let out a low, dog-like whimper.

Tyler reached out and gently patted Valrick’s head, his hand ruffling the boy’s fur. “I’ll come back soon,” he said kindly. “But I have a mission to travel to other lands—to help other people, just like I helped you.”

“Then will you come back tomorrow?” Elrick asked, his small hands clutching Tyler’s sleeve as he attempted to pull him back toward the village.

Tyler remained rooted in place, unmoving no matter how much the boy tugged. “Well…” he began, tilting his head side to side with an exaggerated hum. His teasing tone made Tomoe’s grin widen as she watched the priest toy with the children.

The three Beast-children let out a chorus of whining protests. Astrilda even attempted a tiny roar, but the sound was so weak and high-pitched that it resembled a tiger cub trying to be intimidating.

“I’ll come back when you all need me again,” Tyler said with a knowing smile.

Valrick tilted his head, his amber eyes full of curiosity. “And how will you know that?”

“I just will,” Tyler replied simply, his voice full of gentle certainty.

A few hours later, as the sun climbed higher into the sky, Tyler and Tomoe stood on the edge of the village, their belongings packed and ready. The townsfolk had gathered to thank them once more—for healing their wounds and for Tomoe’s help in moving heavy logs back to their fields. Their gratitude came in the form of a gift: a horse and a modest wooden carriage to aid them on their journey.

Tomoe had taken the reins, sitting at the front of the carriage while Tyler sat inside. The rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves filled the air as they moved along the dirt path.

Tomoe hummed softly under her breath, shifting her head side to side as she invented a tune. The horse snorted in response, its ears twitching as if it were listening. She smiled faintly, her hands steady on the reins. She wasn’t entirely sure where they were headed—Tyler never gave her much information beyond vague directions. It was strange, but she didn’t mind. She trusted him to lead them well, even if danger lay ahead.

And if danger did arise, she would be ready. Her sword, Tetsuryoku, rested at her side, its polished blade hidden within a scabbard that gleamed faintly in the sunlight.

“Hello,” Tyler’s voice broke the quiet as he climbed out of the carriage. He held his robe up to avoid tripping and carefully stepped onto the driver’s platform, sitting beside her. His golden staff followed, the rings jingling softly as he leaned it against his knees. Tyler let out a small, contented sigh as he settled in.

Tomoe glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Hello,” she greeted. “Finished cleaning your staff again?”

Tyler chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Was that a poke at me?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

“Perhaps,” she replied, her smirk widening.

“Well, Lady Tomoe,” Tyler began, shifting the staff in his hands, “where do you suppose we’re headed today?”

Tomoe raised an eyebrow, her grip on the reins steady. “That’s your job to tell me, isn’t it?”

Tyler laughed softly, his voice carrying a hint of mystery as always. “A few miles ahead—let’s say three miles or so—there’s another town. I believe they’ll need our help.”

Tomoe hummed, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead. “Alright. We’ll likely reach it before the sun sets. How about resting for now?” She turned to him briefly, one eyebrow raised in question.

Tyler nodded slightly, his veil shifting with the motion. “I can rest here beside you,” he said, glancing back at the worn green tarp covering the carriage’s interior. “The air is fresher out here, and the sun shines brighter.”

The two fell into a companionable silence. The chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves created a peaceful melody around them. Tomoe let herself relax, the reins loose but controlled in her hands.

A little while later, she began humming again—this time, not a tune she’d made up, but one she remembered from her childhood. It was a song her mother used to sing to her, a gentle lullaby filled with warmth and love.

At the edge of her vision, she noticed Tyler sitting perfectly still. His back was straight, his golden staff resting on the floor and leaning slightly against his knees. He didn’t say a word, simply listening as she hummed.

The melody brought back memories of her mother’s soft voice. Tomoe remembered how her mother would sing that song whenever she was upset or restless. She’d often leave her mother’s side in favor of training with her father, but her mother always told her the same thing:

“You’re growing so fast, my little bird. One day, you’ll spread your wings and leave the nest sooner than I’d like.”

“Sleep, little light, don’t run ahead, The stars will wait upon your bed. Your feet grow strong, your voice so wide— But let me hold this stillness, just tonight. 

Let the wind teach you how to roam, But let the rain sing you softly home. One day, you’ll run where I can’t go, But not too fast, my heart says—slow. 

So hush, my moon, and dream your skies, Let tomorrow wait behind your eyes. Stay little, my little hands, a while— Let Mama keep this morning in your smile.”

The song was about a mother quietly wishing her child would stay little forever. The memory of her mother’s soft voice, brushing her hair or bathing her in warm water, surfaced vividly in Tomoe’s mind. Her chest throbbed—not with pain, but with a bittersweet hope.

Would my mother still be at home, waiting for me to come back?

Lost in thought, Tomoe’s humming faltered. Her grip on the reins tightened ever so slightly as her focus drifted inward.

“That song,” Tyler’s voice broke the silence, pulling her back to the present.

“Yes?” Tomoe asked, turning toward him. She had thought he might have fallen asleep, given how quiet he had been. It was hard to tell—his face hidden behind that ever-present paper veil. Even with her sharp Drakari hearing, she couldn’t detect the sound of his breathing.

“It sounds beautiful,” Tyler said softly, his tone thoughtful. “Did you create it?”

Tomoe shook her head. “No… it’s a song my mother used to sing to me,” she replied. Her voice was steady, but there was a wistful undertone. “When I was a child, she would brush my hair or bathe me, and she’d sing it so lovingly. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant. But now I know,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Her hands tightened around the reins, her knuckles faintly white.

“She hoped I wouldn’t leave her.” Her voice softened, trembling slightly as she let out a shaky breath.

Tyler tilted his head, his veil shifting slightly with the motion. “Well… do you regret leaving?”

The question hung in the air.

Tomoe didn’t answer immediately. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared ahead, her mind swirling. Did she regret it? If she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have met Tyler. She wouldn’t have journeyed to the Temple of Reflection , where she had learned to calm her restless heart. More than likely, she would have spent the rest of her life pushing herself to the brink—training endlessly until her body gave out, leaving her to die a lonely death.

“Perhaps not,” she murmured at last. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “But… I wish I could go back.”

“What is stopping you?” Tyler asked, turning his calm gaze toward her.

Tomoe sighed deeply, her breath trembling as she released it. “I’m afraid… that if I go back, they might no longer accept me.” Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability she rarely revealed. She bit her tongue softly, steadying herself.

“Do you doubt their love for you?” Tyler asked after a moment of silence, his tone gentle but probing.

“What? No, of course not,” Tomoe replied, her response quick and defensive.

“Then you shouldn’t think such things,” Tyler said with quiet certainty. “Your father and mother would certainly welcome you back with open arms.”

“A-Ah…” Tomoe stammered, caught off guard by the simplicity of his response. “You think so?” She glanced at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I’ve done nothing but act like a bullhead all my life. I was so focused on what I wanted that I never listened to them.”

She let out a deep sigh but soon snorted softly, a wry grin forming on her lips. “I remember once, I came home caked in mud after training too hard. I didn’t even notice I was tracking it all over the house. My mother came home and found me grinning like a fool, the entire house a mess. She was pale with shock!”

Tyler chuckled at the image, a soft, warm sound that lightened the air between them. “Well,” he said, “you mustn’t doubt a mother and father’s love. No matter how stubborn or bullheaded you might have been, they would surely be delighted to see you come home.”

Tomoe smiled, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “Thank you, Tyler. You always seem to know how to calm my mind. It feels like you know me so well,” she teased lightly, her tone playful.

Tyler’s head tilted side to side in an unmistakable gesture of embarrassment. Even through the veil, she could sense him smiling. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice soft with a hint of shyness.

Tomoe grinned wider, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It is.”

For a brief moment, the paper veil shifted ever so slightly, revealing the faint curve of Tyler’s small, genuine smile.

Somehow, Tomoe’s heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

THE SUN WAS BEGINNING ITS DESCENT , painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. Beside her, Tyler had most likely fallen asleep. His head had drifted closer, resting lightly on her shoulder as if seeking stability on the uneven carriage ride. She glanced at him briefly, the soft rise and fall of his chest confirming his slumber. His staff, with its golden rings, lay loosely gripped in his hand, occasionally jingling with the carriage's motion.

Tomoe adjusted her hold on the reins, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. She had miscalculated earlier; the town was still far beyond reach, and the deepening shadows of dusk confirmed they wouldn’t arrive before nightfall. She sighed quietly. They would need to find a spot to rest. Thankfully, the carriage provided adequate shelter. The horse, however, would need food and water—perhaps an apple or two if she could find some.

The dirt path ahead was beginning to blur into the encroaching twilight. Gently, she tugged at the reins, steering the horse off the road and into the woods. The woods, while sparse, were dense enough to provide a sense of seclusion. The trees stood tall and scattered, their silhouettes cutting jagged lines against the darkening sky. She brought the carriage to a stop beneath a sturdy tree, the horse snorting softly as the journey ended.

Beside her, Tyler stirred, his head lifting from her shoulder as he blinked groggily. “Seems like we didn’t make it to town,” he said, his voice low and raspy from sleep. There was something in his tone—an odd calmness, as if he had expected this outcome. Tomoe didn’t press him.

“Unfortunately so,” she replied, her voice steady. “You can rest inside the carriage. I’ll unhitch the horse, gather some firewood, and look for apples.”

At the mention of apples, Tyler perked up slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “If you could, bring me some as well,” he said, already retreating into the carriage. The golden rings of his staff clanged noisily as he propped it against the wall.

“Of course,” Tomoe replied, hopping down from the driver’s seat with practiced ease. She began unfastening the horse’s reins, her movements fluid and methodical. Tying the animal to a low-hanging branch, she patted its neck gently. “You’ve done well today. Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft with gratitude. The horse flicked its tail in response, letting out a low whinny.

With a final glance at the carriage, Tomoe ventured into the woods. The air was still, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of crickets. The trees here weren’t dense, their spacing allowing moonlight to seep through in silvery streaks. She scanned the area for suitable firewood, unsheathing her blade, Tetsuryoku, with a faint metallic whisper.

In a single fluid motion, she severed a thick branch, the wood falling to the ground with a heavy thud . She repeated the process, collecting an assortment of branches—some thick for the fire’s base, others thin and leafy for kindling. Her arms grew heavy with the load, but she continued, her sharp eyes now searching the treetops for apples.

It took longer than she cared to admit, but eventually, she spotted a tree laden with the red fruit. Setting down her firewood, she climbed the tree with ease, her hands steady as they plucked the ripened apples. She allowed herself a small smile.

She made sure to pluck a few extra apples before heading back to the carriage, carefully retracing her steps through the woods. As the familiar silhouette of the carriage came into view, she spotted their horse tied to a sturdy branch, its head lowered as it contentedly grazed on the grass beneath. A faint smile crossed Tomoe’s lips as she approached.

She set down the firewood on the ground and walked up to the horse.

Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out a bright red apple, setting down the bundle of branches a few steps away. The horse’s ears flicked as she held the fruit out toward him. He let out a happy snort, eagerly biting into it. Tomoe chuckled softly, offering him another apple, which he promptly accepted, even as his mouth was still full of the first.

“Are you full now?” she asked with a smile, patting his strong neck. The horse sniffed at her satchel, clearly aware there were more apples hidden inside. “No, no, these aren’t for you anymore,” she chided, amusement coloring her tone. The horse snorted in protest, flicking his tail before stepping away to chew the apples noisily, undeterred. Shaking her head, Tomoe closed the satchel and returned her attention to the carriage.

“Tyler?” she called as she walked toward it, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “I’m back. Why haven’t you lit the lantern inside the carriage?” Her voice carried a casual familiarity, expecting to see him lounging inside. But as she peered into the shadowed interior, her steps faltered. The space was empty.

Her brows knitted together in confusion. Tyler's satchel lay undisturbed, along with the thin leather blanket he often carried, but there was no sign of him. The lantern hung untouched, its wick unlit. For a moment, she simply stared at the empty space, her mind turning over possibilities.

“Where did he go now?” she muttered under her breath, stepping back and glancing around. This wasn’t the first time Tyler had vanished while she busied herself with tasks. His curiosity often got the better of him, leading him to wander off without warning. She usually found him nearby, inspecting trees or lecturing her on their age, a strange habit of his she had stopped questioning long ago.

“Tyler?” she called again, her voice louder this time as she turned toward the trees. Her gaze scanned the darkening woods, expecting to catch a glimpse of his figure moving among the shadows. Her drakari senses, though not as sharp as her kin’s, picked up faint traces of incense lingering in the air—a familiar scent that always clung to Tyler’s robes. She followed it instinctively, her heart beginning to beat faster.

The horse snorted softly behind her, its tail flicking lazily as if watching her with mild curiosity. She glanced back at him briefly, his beady eyes meeting hers. “Where’s he gone off to this time?” she murmured, gripping Tetsuryoku’s hilt without thinking as unease prickled at the edges of her awareness.

Choosing a random direction, she stepped into the woods, her boots crunching softly against the forest floor. “Tyler? Priest? Where have you gone to again?” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. The trees seemed to press in closer as the last light of day began to fade, leaving behind a silvery twilight.

While Tomoe didn’t doubt Tyler’s strength—she knew he wasn’t weak by any measure—her worry grew with each passing moment. If something had happened to him, she would never forgive herself. “Tyler?” she called again, her voice tinged with urgency now. She strained her ears, waiting for the familiar jingling of the golden rings on his staff, a sound that usually gave away his proximity. But the forest remained silent.

Yet the air remained silent, save for the increasingly loud chirping of crickets and the occasional rustling of leaves carried by a gentle breeze. The stillness, broken only by these natural sounds, pressed heavily on Tomoe’s mind. She turned in place, her sharp eyes scanning the dark woods and her unease growing with each passing second. Where was Tyler? Her fingers tightened around the hilt of Tetsuryoku, the familiar weight grounding her.

“Tyler—” she began to call again, her voice tinged with rising urgency. But she froze mid-word, her breath catching in her throat. Voices. Low, rough, and unmistakably close.

Her body reacted instinctively, dropping into a crouch as her heart pounded in her ears. The light breeze carried with it the acrid, unmistakable smell of smoke. She bared her teeth slightly, both in surprise and frustration. Other people? Here? That couldn’t be right. The nearest town was still miles away—Tyler had said as much. So who were these people, and what were they doing here?

Moving carefully, she crept toward the sound of the voices, her steps silent as she slipped between the shadows of the trees. Her black clothing blended seamlessly with the dark surroundings, a fortunate choice for someone who wasn’t expecting to need stealth tonight. She approached a dense bush and crouched low behind it, her breathing shallow as she parted the leaves with her fingers to get a better view.

Ahead, she spotted them—four figures gathered around a crackling fire. The flames cast flickering light on their faces, illuminating features that made her breath hitch. They weren’t human. Beastmen, she realized, her brows furrowing in confusion. Snake-like scales dotted their faces like freckles, their slit-pupil eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. Unlike her kind, whose eyes closed vertically, theirs shut horizontally, giving them an unnervingly alien appearance. Long, sinuous tails extended from their backs, coiling and uncoiling with every movement like restless serpents.

She stayed motionless, listening intently as one of them spoke, his voice laced with cruel amusement.

“That town is done for, don’t you think?” the beastman cackled, his forked tongue flicking out briefly as he grinned at the others. “We did such a good job fucking them up.”

Tomoe’s brow furrowed deeper, her confusion tinged with a growing sense of dread. What town were they talking about? Surely they couldn’t mean the one Tyler had been leading them toward. She inched a little closer, her movements slow and deliberate, careful not to disturb the bush or make a sound.

“Master Varethar will surely be proud of us!” another beastman hissed, his tail thrashing madly behind him. The others cheered at his words, their laughter harsh and grating. The fire snapped and crackled, sending sparks into the darkened sky as they celebrated whatever destruction they had wrought.

Master Varethar? Tomoe’s mind raced. A leader, perhaps? Whoever he was, they clearly revered him.

“They were particularly easy to play with,” one of the beastmen sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “I posed as a child in need of help, and, oh, how quickly a family took it upon themselves to care for me. After that… well, you know how it went.” He paused, his grin widening into something grotesque. “The family fought each other as I fed them lie after lie!”

The others erupted into laughter, their voices echoing through the forest.

“How diabolical! A true Voidspawn at heart!” one of them praised, slapping the speaker on the back.

Tomoe’s breath caught. Voidspawn? Her stomach turned. These weren’t just beastmen; they were something far worse. Her body tensed, a cold chill running down her spine as her mind raced to process this revelation. Voidspawn weren't supposed to be real. They were legends, stories told to frighten children into behaving. Or so she had believed.

She flinched involuntarily, pulling back slightly as her thoughts spiraled. Memories of her Sensei’s teachings surfaced unbidden. He had spoken of Voidspawn once, recounting their origins and the chaos they brought, but even then, she had dismissed them as myths or exaggerated tales of monsters long extinct. 

“Voidspawn or Demons are not merely monsters, but deliberate weapons of unmaking. Crafted by the Fallen Gods from the raw essence of ruin and despair, they are the antithesis of the Primeborn, who were forged from divine light to uplift and guide mortals. Where the Primeborn bring healing, wisdom, and harmony, the Voidspawn exist to infect, unravel, and tempt.

Each demon is a living curse, sculpted to sow doubt, fracture unity, and erode hope. They do not conquer kingdoms with armies—they hollow them from within: twisting kings into tyrants, lovers into betrayers, and prophets into madmen. By corrupting the mortal heart, they sever the fragile tether between humanity and the divine.

Unlike the Fallen Gods, who act with cold, divine intent, demons are fire let loose—chaotic, ravenous, and insatiable. Yet they echo their creators’ will, carrying whispers of their god’s lost fury. Some demons mimic mortal forms to deceive; others are too monstrous to be described, embodying fears never meant to be named.”

That’s what her Sensei had told her—making exaggerated gestures and movements to frighten her into believing in the tales of the Voidspawn. She had scoffed then, refusing to buy into the stories. All her life, she had never experienced that bone-chilling fear her Sensei spoke of. But now, crouched in the dark, listening to these men boast of how they had used deceit and lies to destroy innocent lives, she felt something else entirely: rage.

A low growl escaped her lips, unbidden, vibrating in her chest. How dare they! Her mind burned with fury as her hand gripped the hilt of Tetsuryoku, the familiar steel vibrating faintly under her touch. Her chest pulsed with anger, and her face grew hot with the sheer intensity of it. These Voidspawn—they were vile, blasphemous creatures. Their very existence was a stain upon the world, a reminder of the Creator who had fallen from divinity and become the Devourer.

Disgusting. Absolutely vile, she thought, her breaths coming sharper now. To toy with innocent families, to destroy lives for sport? They deserve utter obliteration.

Her teeth clenched as the plan formed in her mind. Her eyes locked onto the one with his back turned to her. If she moved quickly, she could sever his head in one strike, then take out the man beside him in the same motion. The other two would be easy—she could kick the fire toward them, using the hot embers to blind them. While snakes, like the drakari, were reptiles, they did not share her ability to endure fire. And in the chaos of their blindness, she would finish it. Swift. Clean. Justice.

Her muscles coiled, ready to spring, her focus sharp on her target. She adjusted her grip on Tetsuryoku, the blade humming faintly as if it, too, thirsted for retribution. But just as she was about to leap, a faint crunch of grass behind her made her freeze.

Her eyes widened, and she whipped her head around.

Another Voidspawn stood there, smirking at her. “What do we have here?” he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. His sharp fangs glinted in the faint firelight, his slitted eyes narrowing as he took her in.

Tomoe wasted no time. She sprinted toward him, unsheathing Tetsuryoku in one seamless motion. The blade sang as it cut through the air, so fast it was almost invisible. With a leap, she closed the distance, her blade slicing clean through his neck in a single, precise arc. She landed in a crouch, one knee pressed into the grassy floor to muffle the sound of her impact. Behind her, she heard the dull thud of his head hitting the ground.

For a moment, there was silence. She waited, her breathing steady, anticipating the inevitable fall of his body. But no sound came. Instead, a voice—his voice—rang out behind her.

“My, what was that? Are you some kind of swordsman? That was so fast!”

Tomoe’s blood turned to ice. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes widening in horror. The Voidspawn’s body was still standing. His decapitated head lay on the ground, grinning up at her with gleeful delight. To her utter disbelief, the body bent down, its movements grotesque and unnatural, and picked up the severed head.

“What… are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The Voidspawn—no, the monster—lifted his head toward his neck, the obscene sight making her stomach churn. The headless body pressed the severed neck and head together, and before her very eyes, the flesh began to knit itself back together. The process was disturbingly smooth, as if the wound had never been inflicted.

“You’re very interesting,” the creature said, his voice now whole again as he twisted his neck experimentally, wincing slightly. “A swordsman with skill like that? You don’t see that every day.” He grinned at her, his sharp teeth bared in mock admiration.

Tomoe took a step back, her grip tightening on Tetsuryoku. Her heart raced in her chest as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. They can’t die? How? Her thoughts swirled in horror as she tried to recall everything her Sensei had ever taught her about Voidspawn. Nothing had prepared her for this.

Behind him, the other four men she had been watching earlier stood up, alerted by the commotion. One of them raised a brow, his slit-pupil eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Hey, Soren! What’s going on over there?” he called, his voice rough and irritated.

Soren—his name was Soren—waved a hand dismissively as he chuckled. “Oh, nothing much! Just saw this tall, pretty lady hiding behind a bush, watching you lot. She must be interested!” His laughter grated on her ears, the sound cold and mocking.

Tomoe’s eyes darted to the four men, her mind racing. They were all Voidspawn. She could see it now—snake-like scales, flickering tongues, and those unnerving tails. They were no different from Soren. And if Soren could survive decapitation, what about the others?

Soren rubbed his neck, wincing slightly before crossing his arms. “You know,” he said, addressing the group, “you four should be more careful. This swordswoman here could have killed you all if she’d wanted to. Lucky you’ve got someone like me watching your backs.”

One of the Voidspawn laughed, his voice grating and full of mockery. “Ah, seriously? You think she could kill us? I bet she wouldn’t even manage it, no matter how great she is with that sword,” he said with a sharp grin, his forked tongue flicking briefly.

Tomoe’s fingers tightened on the hilt of Tetsuryoku, her knuckles white from the force. Ignoring the taunts, she steadied her breathing, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Are you really Voidspawn?” she asked, her voice low but carrying a dangerous edge. Her question hung in the air, tension thick around her.

Soren turned to face her fully, his smirk widening. “And who’s asking?” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming under the firelight. “You really do like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, don’t you? Tell me, what’s your name, swordswoman?”

Tomoe didn’t answer. Her brows furrowed further, her resolve hardening. She wasn’t here to talk. Instead, she lowered her blade slightly, bending her knees in preparation. Without warning, she sprinted forward, her body a blur. In one smooth, precise motion, she cut through Soren’s neck—then pivoted, her blade slicing through the throats of the other four Voidspawn with ease, as though she were cutting through melted butter.

For a moment, the forest went deathly silent, save for the crackling of the fire. Tomoe stood amidst the carnage, her breath steady but her mind racing. She watched as their severed heads hit the ground one by one, her sharp instincts waiting for their bodies to collapse.

But then it happened—again.

Just as with Soren earlier, that same black, viscous goo bubbled up from their wounds. It oozed grotesquely, moving with a life of its own, reattaching their severed heads to their necks. Tomoe’s eyes widened in horror as she watched the disgusting scene play out, her stomach churning. The sheer wrongness of it made her hesitate—an opening that cost her.

Before she could move, something cold and slimy wrapped around her legs. She gasped, only to see the black goo from Soren earlier now coiling up her body like living vines. It snaked around her arms, forcing her to lose her grip on Tetsuryoku. The blade fell to the ground with a dull metallic clang as she was yanked backward with inhuman force.

“Wha—?!” Her words were cut short as the goo lifted her and hurled her like a ragdoll toward the nearest tree. She hit the trunk hard, a sharp pain radiating through her back before she realized—to her growing horror—that she was stuck. The same sticky black slime held her fast against the bark, pinning her arms and legs in place.

“What is this?!” she shouted, her voice rising in fury as she struggled. She pulled against the bonds with all her might, but the goo only tightened in response, slamming her back against the tree with a loud thud . She groaned in frustration, watching helplessly as the five Voidspawn surrounded her, their expressions ranging from amusement to irritation.

“Damn, that was too fast for my liking,” one of them muttered, rubbing his neck. “If it weren’t for Master Varethar’s blessing, I’d have been dead before I even noticed what was happening.”

Another Voidspawn laughed, slapping him on the back. “Between all of us, Eske, you’re the worst at fighting,” he said mockingly, his tail flicking in amusement.

Eske scowled but didn’t reply, instead turning his irritated gaze to Tomoe. “Well, I’ve never seen anything like this woman before,” he muttered, his voice tinged with unease.

“Neither have I,” Mads said, his pale face furrowing into a frown as his slitted eyes studied her. “She’s not human, that’s for sure. What kind of beastman is she?”

Soren, meanwhile, smirked and rolled his eyes. “She’s interesting, that’s for sure,” he said, stepping closer to Tomoe. “We could definitely sell her. Plenty of people would pay a fortune for a slave who can fight and protect them.”

Tomoe’s teeth clenched in fury, her golden eyes narrowing into slits. “Let me go,” she growled, her muscles straining against the goo. “And I’ll make sure to give you all a peaceful death.”

Her strength surged, and with a roar of effort, she tore one arm free. The Voidspawn stumbled back in surprise, their expressions twisting into alarm. But before she could break free entirely, the black goo lashed out again, snapping her limb back into place with enough force to make the tree shudder.

“Damn, that scared me!” Eske exclaimed, his voice shaky as he stepped back.

“She certainly doesn’t look like a human, does she?” Mads said, his voice cold and calculating. “A beastman, maybe? If so, she’ll sell for a fortune.”

Tomoe snarled, baring her sharp teeth. “How dare you talk about me like that, you disgusting spawns of evil!” she growled, her voice dripping with venom. Her eyes darted toward Tetsuryoku, lying just out of reach on the ground.

Rasmus bent down, his forked tongue flicking out as he picked up the blade, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Look at this… Are these dragon scales?” he asked, holding the weapon up to the firelight.

“Dragon scales?” Eske asked, his voice tinged with awe. “You mean she killed a dragon?”

“No,” Soren said, stepping up beside Rasmus. His smirk widened as he reached out, grabbing the collar of Tomoe’s shirt and pulling it down slightly to reveal the shimmering scales along her neck. “She is the dragon.”

Tomoe froze, her fury giving way to a flicker of unease as the Voidspawn’s gazes turned hungry.

“Master Varethar would love to have a dragonkin,” Mads said, crossing his arms as he assessed her.

The black goo tightened around Tomoe’s body, and she struggled harder, but it was no use. This time, it felt stronger, almost alive, as if it were feeding off her strength. Her breathing quickened as panic crept into her thoughts.

“Get me out of this!” she roared, her voice echoing through the trees.

“Hey, hey,” Soren said teasingly, wagging a finger at her. “It’s already dark. You’re too loud.”

As if on command, the goo crept up her face, sealing her lips shut. Her muffled scream of frustration and rage filled the air as she thrashed against her bonds, her fists clenching and unclenching uselessly. What is this? she thought desperately, her heart pounding as the Voidspawn laughed at her helplessness.

But then her ears twitched. Through the haze of her panic, she heard it—a soft, familiar sound. A faint chime . The ringing of ornament rings.

Her eyes widened. No… Tyler.

She strained her ears, her mind racing. The sound was faint but growing louder, coming from… every direction? She couldn’t pinpoint it. Where is he? she thought, her stomach twisting in fear. What if he walks into this trap?

“Do you hear that?” Rasmus asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter. He cupped a hand over his ear, glancing around.

“Hear what?” Eske and Lague asked in unison, before glaring at each other suspiciously.

Mads and Soren turned to Tomoe, who was straining against her bonds, her head swiveling as she listened. Mads’s brows furrowed, unease flickering across his face. “She’s with someone,” he muttered.

“Someone like her?” Eske asked nervously.

Mads didn’t reply, but the growing tension in his posture was clear. Whoever it was, he didn’t like the feeling creeping into his chest—a cold, sharp unease that he couldn’t quite explain.

“Hello,” a soft voice called, its tone gentle yet carrying an unshakable authority. A man clad in shimmering gold and pristine white robes emerged from the woods, his movements calm and deliberate. Tomoe let out a muffled scream, her body straining against the black goo that bound her. The voidspawns turned their attention toward the newcomer, their predatory gazes narrowing. The man’s attire was peculiar—his robes bore a resemblance to those of a priest, but there was an otherworldly elegance to them. A paper veil, attached to a wide-brimmed hat, obscured his entire face, concealing his identity. In his hands, he carried a golden staff crowned with a cluster of ornamented rings that tinkled softly with every step.

“Oh? And who might you be? Her master?” Soren asked, raising a brow in amusement. His smirk widened as he leaned lazily against his scythe. Tyler, the man in robes, tilted his head slightly, his hands resting lightly on his golden staff. His posture exuded calm confidence, though his voice remained kind and measured. “Of course not. I’m her friend. If you would be so kind as to release her, we can be on our way,” he said, his tone polite yet firm.

Soren chuckled, but before he could respond, Lague and Eske crept toward Tyler, circling him like wolves sizing up their prey. Grins stretched across their faces, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. Mads stood back, his unease evident as he stayed close to Rasmus and Soren, though his arms were folded tight across his chest.

“Are you a priest?” Eske asked, her voice lilting as she tugged playfully on Tyler’s robes. Behind them, Tomoe watched in growing dread, her muffled screams turning frantic.

No! No! Run!

“Yes,” Tyler replied simply, his soft voice unwavering as Eske’s hands pulled carelessly at the pristine fabric of his robes. Despite their antics, he remained utterly still, as immovable as a mountain. Mads watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. His brows furrowed deeply as a strange, almost imperceptible tension began to coil in the air. Something about this man... something about him felt wrong .

Behind them, Tomoe’s struggles intensified, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on Tyler. Does he not realize? Does he not know these are Voidspawns?! He must run. He must—

“Can you release my friend?” Tyler asked again, his voice calm yet carrying a sharp edge of insistence. He turned his veiled face toward Soren, who grinned toothily, clearly enjoying the interaction.

“Well,” Soren drawled, tapping his scythe against the ground, “if you’d be so willing to sell yourself to us, then maybe I will. A priest and a dragonkin? Now that’s a rare combination! Not every day I see something like that.” His grin widened, but before he could continue, Mads placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Soren, why don’t we just... let them go?” Mads whispered, his voice low and tense. Soren glanced at him, his grin faltering slightly. “What’s wrong with you, Maddie? Don’t tell me you’re scared. It’s not like we’ll get killed.” He laughed, though Mads’ hand remained firm on his shoulder.

It happened in an instant.

With a sound like a gunshot, a golden spear materialized at the head of Tyler’s staff. In one smooth, fluid motion, he struck—his movements were so swift they were nearly imperceptible. The spear cleaved through both Eske and Lague, their bodies dissolving into thin air before they could even scream. Their grins were replaced by expressions of shock, gone in an instant.

Rasmus let out a shriek, stumbling backward in fear as the realization hit him. His trembling hands clutched at Mads’ arm. “Fuck, I knew it!” Mads hissed, dragging Soren back with him as they retreated.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Mads said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at Tyler. The priest stood motionless, golden staff in hand, its spearhead glinting ominously. Tyler tilted his head slightly, his body language calm, almost serene.

“Damn it... it’s him,” Soren muttered, his voice cracking with horror. His once-cocky demeanor crumbled as recognition dawned. “Dmirtros,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “The hunter of all evil.”

A cold sweat broke over Soren’s brow as he took another step back. Memories flooded his mind—of a time when he had narrowly escaped death at the hands of this very man. Or rather, not a man at all.

Dmitros, the God of Absolution.

To mortals, he was known as the God of Forgiveness, a compassionate deity who granted absolution to all who sought it with genuine remorse. For the devout, he was a figure of hope and redemption. But for those like Soren—Devourers, Demons, and Dark Mages—he was no savior. He was their predator. A god who walked among mortals, his wrath reserved for the wicked.

“We’ve got to go!” Mads shouted, making a move to sprint. But before he could take a step, Tyler vanished into thin air, reappearing just as suddenly behind Rasmus. A gleaming spear materialized in his hand, and with one swift motion, he drove it into Rasmus's gut. Black smoke erupted from the wound as Rasmus let out a strangled cry before disappearing into nothingness—most likely sent to the God of the Underworld to face punishment.

Tyler wasted no time. The spear vanished as if absorbed back into his golden staff. He turned toward Soren and Mads, who barely had time to react. In a blur of movement, Tyler struck again. Soren’s head rolled to the ground, and before Mads could even lift his weapon, he too was cut down. Their bodies dissolved into plumes of black smoke, leaving behind only the faint, acrid scent of sulfur.

Standing amidst the carnage, Tyler twirled his golden staff with ease, its faint glow illuminating the blood-slicked ground. The weapon shimmered for a moment, then returned to its dormant form, resembling nothing more than a ceremonial artifact.

Tomoe watched from where she was restrained, her wide eyes filled with a mixture of fear and awe. The black, tar-like goo binding her body began to wither and disintegrate as the golden light from Tyler’s staff grew brighter. She gasped as the last of it vanished, leaving her trembling but free.

“Hello,” Tyler said, his voice calm and steady as he turned to face her. “I’m sorry I was late. I got lost on the way.” His tone was almost casual, as if he hadn’t just dispatched five dangerous enemies with terrifying efficiency.

Tomoe staggered to her feet, her legs shaky. “Tyler…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She watched as he bent down and picked up Tetsuryoku, her sword, which had fallen to the ground during the fight. He wiped the blade clean with the edge of his robe before holding it out to her, handle first.

“Lady Tomoe, are you alright?” he asked gently. “They didn’t hurt you, did they? Don’t worry. I’ve sent them to the Underworld, where Lady Eion and Master Ulmareth will see to their punishment.”

Tomoe hesitated, staring at the sword in his hands. She didn’t reach for it. Something about him felt… different now. Unfamiliar. She had known Tyler for some time, but the man standing before her now seemed like a stranger. The strength he had displayed, the power—none of it seemed human. And yet, he had saved her.

“What are you?” she asked, her voice trembling. Her chest ached with a strange mix of gratitude and fear. “Who are you really?”

Tyler’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he lowered his head. The paper veil he wore shifted, revealing the faint curve of his downturned lips. “I owe you an apology, Lady Tomoe,” he said quietly. “I have not been entirely honest with you.”

He stepped closer, gently taking her hand and pressing Tetsuryoku into it. His touch was warm, yet she flinched slightly, unsure if she should trust him. He noticed but said nothing as he continued, his voice laced with regret. “If you wish for me to leave, I will. I understand if you can no longer trust me. I have deceived a good friend, and for that, I am deeply sorry.”

Tomoe tightened her grip on the sword, her knuckles white. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You’re not one of them, are you? You’re not a Voidspawn…”

“No,” Tyler said firmly, meeting her gaze. “I am not a Voidspawn.”

“Then how?” she demanded, her voice rising. “How did you defeat them so easily when I couldn’t even scratch them? Who—what—are you?”

There was a long pause before Tyler finally answered. “Tyler is not my real name,” he confessed. “It is the name I use when I walk among mortals. My true name is Dmitros, the God of Absolution. One of the Three Gods of Law and Justice.”

Tomoe’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. Dmitros bowed low, holding his staff horizontally across his hands in a gesture of reverence. When he straightened, he stood tall and proud, his golden staff glowing faintly in the dim light.

“I have walked these lands for centuries,” he continued. “My purpose is to hunt and destroy Devourers, Demons, and Dark Magic. It is my sacred duty as a god. But my mission requires secrecy. To reveal myself to mortals is forbidden, for knowledge of the demons’ existence can bring chaos. I have failed in this regard, Lady Tomoe, and for that, I ask for your forgiveness.”

Tomoe was silent, overwhelmed. Her mind raced as she tried to process what he had just told her. Slowly, she sheathed Tetsuryoku, her movements deliberate. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable.

“Lady Tomoe—” he began, but before he could finish, she stepped forward and embraced him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and her hand cradled the back of his head with a gentleness that surprised even her.

“Lady Tomoe?” Tyler said, his voice laced with confusion.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of her emotions. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “You’ve hidden so much from me. I won’t lie—I’m hurt and shocked. But to think that my friend is a god…” She trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief.

She knelt before him, her head bowed. “Lady Tomoe, please,” Tyler said, reaching out to stop her. “There is no need to kneel.”

Tomoe flushed and quickly stood, brushing off her knees. “What should I call you now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, just Tyler,” he said, his tone almost embarrassed. “My other name is only used in matters of divine urgency.”

Tomoe nodded slowly. “All this time… I’ve rambled about finding a god to offer me their power,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “It must have been humiliating for you to hear.”

“Not at all,” Tyler replied with a small smile. “Many mortals wish to be seen by the gods. You are no different. But you—your passion sets you apart. It would not surprise me if another god notices you someday.”

Tomoe’s eyes drifted to a smudge of dirt on Tyler’s sleeve. “Your robe is dirty,” she said, stepping closer to brush it off.

Tyler glanced at it. “Oh, that’s nothing. I can clean it later.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Tomoe said suddenly, her voice firm. “I’m not angry. You didn’t deceive me—not really. I can see that you mean well.”

Tyler froze, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “Thank you, Lady Tomoe. I must admit, it gets lonely walking among mortals with no one who truly understands my mission.”

Tomoe smiled faintly. “Well, now you have me. It may take some time for me to fully accept that you’re a god, but I’m glad I know the real you.”

Tyler chuckled, his shoulders shaking. “If you continue to travel with me, perhaps you’ll get used to it.”

As they walked back toward their carriage, the golden light of his staff dimmed, leaving behind a quiet sense of peace.